


The Cry

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the third anniversary of her younger sister’s passing, Katniss Everdeen mourns her losses, but fate has someone in mind who will ease her loneliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompts in Panem Dreamscape Week (March/April 2015), Day 4 (Howls)

I wipe my tears from my eyes and turn from the mirror to grab my purse. I’m late, and I hate being late as much as anything in the world––as much as my empty apartment and my empty life. As much as I hate being reminded that few people will care if I don’t show up on time. Yet, being late seems like I’m breaking a promise.

I don’t have a lot. I’ve lost my family. My father’s been gone for many years, my sister just a few, and my mother—even though she’s still alive—has settled as far away from me as she possibly can without leaving the country. I’ve never even been invited to her apartment in Seattle. Not that I could afford to visit. My tiny studio apartment in New York requires the bulk of my paycheck.

So, no money, no family, few friends, and the smallest apartment imaginable are my life. The only thing I have left is my integrity, and I gave my word that I’d meet my friend Madge for dinner tonight even though it’s the last thing I want right now.

I slam my apartment door to make sure it’s completely closed before flipping the key in the lock to secure the deadbolt. Buttercup, the most annoying cat I’ve ever seen, meows as he’s shut on the other side. I’d get rid of him if he hadn’t been the apple of my younger, deceased sister’s eye. I don’t want to admit that when Buttercup follows his former owner from this world, I’ll be more alone than I already am.

Thankfully, the restaurant Madge suggested is only a few blocks from my apartment, but they’re the long blocks, the north/south blocks that seem a mile long as I scurry south on Third Avenue in an attempt to make up some time. My friend won’t care if I’m late, but I do.

I stumble on a crack in the sidewalk and flail slightly before a firm hand steadies me. Embarrassed, I straighten myself with an apology on my lips.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into…you…” My voice trails into silence as my gray eyes meet the deepest, kindest pair of azure pools I’ve ever seen. My mouth hangs open for a split second before I give myself a soft shake.

“It’s fine,” he rumbles in a rich baritone voice that sounds like liquid gold. “Stay upright,” he jokes and runs his hand through the riot of blonde curls on his head.

He turns to walk away, and all I can do is mutter a choked, “thank you” before turning to rush the last block to meet Madge. She’s already there, sitting at a table in the corner with her long blonde hair brushing her shoulders in a mussed shag hairstyle. My dark hair would look like I’d never brushed it if I tried to get it to look like hers, which is why it’s always tucked safely into a single braid.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I sputter in frustration as I collapse into the chair opposite my friend.

Her face breaks into a soft smile, and she responds as she always does—gently and with inordinate kindness. “It’s okay, Katniss. I knew you’d be here when you could.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better, Madge. I hate being late.”

“How are you doing? This is a rough time of year for you.”

The question catches me off guard, and I feel my throat close. “I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Everything’s fine. Let’s order, okay?”

“Katniss,” she prods, “you can be honest with me. I’ve known you your whole life.”

My eyes flood with tears, and I blink hard to keep them from trailing down my cheeks. I hate crying as much as I hate being late, and I refuse to do both any more than I already have in the same day.

“Nothing’s changed, Madge. Everything’s still the same,” I huff and sigh sadly. “I’ve been in this city for three years, and you’re still my only friend. My mom rarely answers my emails, and I haven’t heard from Gale since he left for basic training.” My chest aches slightly as I mention my former best friend’s name. We had a falling out after my sister’s death, and he never really understood why I left our hometown in West Virginia to come to Manhattan. He never understood how much I wanted to get lost in a sea of people who didn’t know my pain.

“Not even a phone call from him?” Madge seems surprised, but I haven’t told her the entire story about how badly we argued.

I shake my head in answer and try to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through me. I miss Gale, but our last argument was enough to convince me that our belief systems no longer matched. His mindset couldn’t be changed, and neither could mine. The rift between us was a big one—one that couldn’t be bridged by a common past.

“Let me set you up. There are so many single guys at my work. I can’t stand knowing you’re hurting so badly anymore. Please, Katniss,” she practically begs when I attempt to protest.

“I don’t want a pity date, Madge,” I mumble so softly she leans forward in an attempt to make out my words.

She reaches across the table and places her perfectly manicured hand on my rough, calloused one. “Katniss, you are a beautiful, kind, talented woman. No man in his right mind would take you out on a date in pity. You have no idea the effect you have on people; men, especially.”

“Thank you, but can we drop it? Can we please just have dinner without dissecting my solitary existence? I don’t want you to set me up on a date. I want to enjoy time with you, and then I want to go home and sleep. It’s been a rotten week.”

Madge purses her lips and sighs but nods shortly in agreement. “Fine, but you deserve better than this. You deserve love and companionship, not emptiness.”

Thankfully the waitress saves me from having to answer, and we place our orders. The rest of the dinner passes quickly, and I’m able to escape Madge without her insisting we discuss that the next day is the anniversary of my sister’s death.

Dread washes through me as I unlock my door and slip into my empty apartment. It’s dark. I forgot to leave a lamp on when I left, and I fumble with my keys as I struggle to find the light switch. Buttercup rubs against my legs and releases a yowl that causes me to jump and drop my phone.

“Dammit,” I curse and fight tears again. I’m not handling things well today, and my bank account balance doesn’t leave room for a visit to my therapist or enough to refill both my anxiety and depression medications. I’m going to have to deal with this for a few days on my own before I can refill the prescriptions.

Slumping onto the couch, I grab my TV remote and aim it at the screen in the hopes that a sitcom will help me escape from my torment. Flipping mindlessly, I don’t notice as the apartment darkens to black around me until Buttercup jumps into my lap with a mournful wail. Glancing at my watch, I realize it’s almost midnight, and he hasn’t been fed yet.

The sound of the food pellets hitting the bottom of the metal bowl jerks me from my stupor. I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the sound of metal crunching and Prim’s scream. I don’t want to relive it again. I can’t face the memories that flood through me when the world around me won’t let me forget my sister is really gone.

I gulp desperately in an attempt to swallow my panic. Dropping an awkward pat on Buttercup’s head, I turn and lurch toward the bedroom, shedding pieces of clothing as I go. I don’t want to sleep in pajamas tonight. I’m scared I’ll wake up feeling trapped in the fabric as I’ve done so many other times.

The cotton sheets feel cool on my burning bare skin. A soft sigh escapes me as I stretch out on my mattress and cocoon myself in a light blanket. I tuck the pillow under my cheek and squeeze my eyes closed with the hope that the night will pass quickly. If there’s any mercy in the world, maybe I’ll sleep through most of tomorrow, too.

_The mist thickens as I step through the opening in the bushes in the backyard. Prim lifts her face and smiles at me. Her blonde hair is plaited neatly into two braids that hang over both her shoulders and are tied in thick blue ribbons that match the rich hue of her eyes. Her legs are folded under her and crossed tightly in the pose she happily refers to as criss-cross-applesauce. Her joy makes my heart hurt with happiness. Her frilly blue dress and white petticoat ruffle in the breeze, and her voice tinkles like jingle bells when she greets me._

_“Hi, Katniss. Thanks for coming to see me,” she says so sweetly it makes my ears hurt._

_“Prim,” I cry in a broken plea. My throat is so dry I can barely speak, but I force myself since my sister is before me. “Prim, I miss you.”_

_“You don’t have to miss me, Katniss.  I’m right here.”  She holds her arms out to me, and I reach for her.  Her small hands fit easily into mine, and she squeezes mine tightly._

_“How have you been, Prim? Are you okay? Can I stop worrying about you?” I’m desperate for an answer—desperate to know my baby sister’s not suffering, that she’s at peace wherever she is._

_“You never needed to worry about me. I’ve always been okay, but you’re not, are you? Why aren’t you happy? I want to stop worrying about you, too.” The earnestness in her gaze cuts through me, and shame floods me._

_“No, I’m not okay. I miss you. And dad. And mom too. Gale’s gone. I don’t have anyone, and I’m so lonely without you. Buttercup’s all I have left of you. I didn’t know I could feel this empty.”_

_“I don’t want you to be sad. Dad doesn’t either.”_

_“You’ve seen him? Is he where you are?”_

_She smiles mysteriously and unfolds her legs. She rises to her feet so delicately I’m stunned by her ethereal presence._

_“Don’t go, Prim,” I beg. “Please don’t go.”_

_“I have to,” she answers simply._

_“Please…” I howl in desperation._

_“We found you someone, Katniss. Don’t give up. You won’t be lonely forever.”_

_“Someone? Who?” Nothing makes sense as my surroundings spin._

_Prim’s face twists and fades as she answers confidently, “You’ll know when you meet him. He’s a painter and a baker. He always double knots his shoelaces, and he likes to sleep with the windows open.”_

_“Prim, please!”_

I wake screaming. Buttercup howls his confusion as he paces back and forth at the end of my bed. Prim’s name hangs in the air, and I realize he’s confused at the sound of the word. He still recognizes who his owner used to be.

“Used to be…” I gasp. “Used to be… She used to be. She’s not anymore.”

Sobs wrack my body as tears soak my pillow. I can’t go back to sleep, but I can’t bear to stay awake either. The hours stretch before me, and I realize it’s not just the hours. It’s the days that will become weeks and then months and then years and then decades—all of them without my sister, without my dad, without anyone, I fear.

I don’t know how long I lie there bawling, but enough time passes that the room lightens as daybreak approaches. As the sun rises, my bedroom brightens to gray, and I slip back into a troubled sleep.

_I stumble through the woods behind my childhood home. I’m chasing something, but I can’t tell what it is. The trees open into a clearing, and Prim scampers across the open space and into the trees on the other side._

_“Prim!” I cry in fear. “Prim, wait! I’m here! Let me help you.”_

_My younger sister glances over her shoulder at me before smiling mischievously and disappearing into the woods. Frantically, I sprint after her, but I stumble on a hidden root. Flailing my arms, I attempt to balance myself, but I know it’s no use. Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace myself for impact with the hard ground._

_But the impact never comes. A firm hand steadies me, and a deep voice rumbles,“Stay upright.” Blue eyes fade into nothingness as the voice echoes through the clearing._

I wake with a jolt. Something’s familiar about the dream sequence, but I can’t put my finger on what caused the sense of déjà vu. With a groan, I reach for my phone. The date stares back at me from the screen, and I’m reminded again that I lost my sister exactly three years ago.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I wail. Buttercup quirks his head at me in confusion. My hands shake as I drag my fingers across the screen in an impatient attempt to dial Madge’s number.

“Hello?” my friend answers after three rings.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I sob into the phone. “I can’t, Madge.”

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, “please don’t cry.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I blubber through gulps of air and hiccups. “I can’t keep pretending it’s not awful to live this way. I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to be strong, but I can’t!” My voice reaches a high-pitched wail that scares me. I’m close to losing control, and I don’t want to fall apart. It always takes so long to put myself back together again.

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Do you want me to come over? I’ll bring ice cream—or vodka.” When I don’t answer, she adds, “Or both.”

An involuntary, pathetically sad giggle bubbles from me, but I turn down her offer. “No… I don’t want to drag you down. I need to deal with today by myself…for Prim.”

Madge murmurs her support. “If you’re sure… But if you need me, call me. Text me if you can’t talk. But I’m begging you, don’t go through this alone just because you feel like you should.”

“Madge?” I say in a voice so small it’s almost non-existent.

“Yes?”

“Do you think you’d still be willing to set me up with someone from your work?”

The question hangs in the air across the phone lines. I can’t quite believe I just asked for a blind date, but the thought of being alone anymore terrifies me more than I can handle. Even uncomfortable, awkward first dates seem better than spending the evenings alone and fighting nightmares about my dead sister.

“Are you serious?” It’s obvious Madge is shocked but hopeful.

“I— I don’t know. I guess so. Yes. I mean, it can’t hurt to try, right?” The uncertainty in my voice is obvious, but I’ve already put the idea out there. I might as well go for it.

“Oh, Katniss! Oh, I’m so excited! There’s this one guy you’re going to just love. I mean, maybe not love. Like. A lot. Maybe love. I don’t know. Oh my god, I’m so excited you’re letting me do this. He’s dreamy. Absolutely dreamy, and he’s seen your picture and he thinks you’re really pretty. I’d date him myself if I wouldn’t get fired—or if he’d shown the least amount of interest in me aside from being friends—but that’s another story. Not important. Not relevant. I’m going to call him as soon as we’re off the phone. He’s so gorgeous!”

Madge’s gush of words makes my head spin, and I fall back onto my mattress in exhaustion. It takes a bit longer for her to calm down, but she finally allows me to speak.

“What’s his name?”

“That’s a safe enough question, isn’t it?” I wonder as my imagination starts to create elaborate scenarios, not all good, about meeting Madge’s mystery man.

“Peeta. His name is Peeta Mellark, and he’s just wonderful. Tall, broad shoulders with the softest blond curls you can imagine and gorgeous blue eyes you can get lost in….” She trails off before remembering herself. “Sorry, yeah. He’s great. Super nice and kind. A perfect gentleman and an incredibly talented graphic artist, although painting is his real talent. Makes me wish I’d gone that route instead of public relations. I could have been in his department.”

“He sounds…” I flail when I can’t come up with a word to describe my unease and hope.

“Perfect? Yeah, pretty much, Katniss. I’m sure he has flaws, but I haven’t seen any yet. The other day he made the best cupcakes for an office birthday party, and he decorated these gorgeous sugar cookies that should be illegal in all fifty states they’re so sinful.” She pauses to catch her breath again and then adds, “You deserve someone like him. Someone who’ll make life better just because he’s in it.”

“Okay, Madge,” I agree in a quiet voice. “Let me know what he says.”

After disconnecting the call, I spend the rest of the day puttering around the apartment trying to avoid my memories, but I give in by the evening. Pulling a photo album from the shelf, I get lost in the images of my precious younger sister and the life I led before half of my family was ripped from me in separate but equally tragic accidents. The unfairness of it all builds until I can’t control my anger, and I bury my face in a pillow and scream until my voice breaks into silence.

By Monday morning, I feel like I’m sleepwalking. My nightmares kept me awake most of the two previous nights, so my head feels full of dandelion fluff. Any movement at all shuffles my thoughts so they float away, and I can’t contain them or make them stay in place.

Knowing I won’t get through the day without some help, I stop by the corner coffee shop on the way to work and order a large espresso. I have a few minutes before I have to be at my desk, so I take advantage of an empty chair at the end of the bar. A shelf to my right holds a number of books, and I pick up a tattered paperback and glance at the title. _Howl and Other Poems_ declares bold black letters on a white background. I’ve never heard of Allen Ginsburg, the author, but I snap a picture of the cover so I can remember to check it out from the library later. Any book with such a cry of pain and anger in the title feels like something I should read.

Turning back to my drink, I inhale the sharp aroma, and a pang rushes through me as memories of lazy weekend mornings flood my mind. My dad loved coffee, and he and my mom used to sit at the kitchen table together while Prim and I ate breakfast. Mostly they discussed current events, but occasionally my dad serenaded us. Those were the days when life felt perfect. I’d forgotten how the smell of coffee and soft music mingled to together to shape my early years.

My nostalgia’s interrupted when someone bumps into me slightly from behind. I turn over my shoulder and receive a nod and silent apology from a man in a business suit. As he moves toward the door to leave, my gaze finds a familiar face—one with deep blue eyes and topped with curly blond hair. I shift uncomfortably when I realize I’ve just laid eyes on the same man I stumbled into a few days before on my way to meet Madge.

He hasn’t noticed me since he’s on the phone, so I observe him from a distance. There’s something about him that’s appealing. It might be the slightly shy smile he wears or that he seems so comfortable in his own skin. I wonder how that feels since I’ve never really felt that way. Never really understood how anyone can be so at ease with oneself.

He glances up as the barista calls out a completed drink order and makes his way across the shop to pick it up. He notices me and smiles before a light of recognition dawns in his eyes. He ends the call abruptly, grabs his coffee, and stops in front of me.

“Have we bumped into each other before?” he asks me with a twinkle in his eye.

I blush and drop my head before nodding. “I think we ran into each other a few days ago,” I deadpan. I try to hide the grin that twitches my lips, but I’m so pleased he remembers me that I can barely hold still.

“Well, it’s nice to see you again—this time without the bump. Umm…?”

“Katniss,” I answer and extend my hand to him.

“Did you say Katniss? As in Katniss Everdeen? Are you Madge Undersee’s friend?” he asks as he gives my hand a firm shake.

With an awkward laugh, I confirm his suspicions. “How do you know Madge?”

“We work together,” he breathes. “She’s shown me a picture of you. I knew you looked familiar when I saw you on the street last week. I thought I was losing my mind.”

Something shifts inside me at his admission. I haven’t had a small world experience like this since moving to New York.

“You work together,” I murmur. “What’s your name?”

A wide smile flashes across his face, and he says softly, “Peeta. I’m Peeta Mellark. I’m a graphic artist at Panem Advertising. Madge has been talking you up for months—not that you need anything she says to make you seem special.”

My head swirls at his words, and I don’t know how to respond. I haven’t been paid a compliment in such a long time. My eyes follow the coffee cup in my hands as I twirl it agitatedly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” His gaze is earnest as he looks at me, and I realize he’s being honest. “Are you heading somewhere? Maybe I could walk you to work?”

I study him for a second and realize I want to say yes. There’s something about him that makes me trust him, which isn’t always the easiest thing to do in a city this large. Nodding in agreement, I follow him to the door and smile in appreciation when he holds the door open for me.

“So, Katniss, where are you heading?” he asks as we step onto the street. I’m about to answer when I notice he’s peering down at his untied shoe. “Sorry, can you hold on for a second?”

“Sure.”

He drops to one knee and ties his laces into a bow twice. He smiles as he stands and grins shyly. “I always have to double knot my laces.”

I cock my head in confusion. Why does that sound so familiar?

_You’ll know when you meet him. He’s a painter and a baker. He always double knots his shoelaces, and he likes to sleep with the windows open._

Prim’s words from my dream fade as traffic begins to move again, and I remember Madge’s description of the man standing beside me.

_A perfect gentleman and an incredibly talented graphic artist, although painting is his real talent. The other day he made the best cupcakes for an office birthday party, and he decorated these gorgeous sugar cookies that should be illegal in all fifty states they’re so sinful._

“Peeta, can I ask you a really strange question?”

“Those are my favorite kind,” he says with a kind smile.

“Do you—umm—how do you feel about windows? Open or closed?” I shake my head at how odd that sounds.

His eyes soften as he answers, “I always sleep with the windows open.”

When I get to work, I head directly to the restroom and hide in a stall before the tears start to fall. For once, I don’t mind crying. For once, they are tears of happiness.

I’ve found him.


End file.
